


Sunday Candy

by mendeshoney



Category: Shawn Mendes (Musician)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 20:21:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21214496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mendeshoney/pseuds/mendeshoney
Summary: You gotta move it slowly, take and eat my body like it's holy. I've been waiting for you for the whole week, I've been praying for you you're my Sunday candy.





	Sunday Candy

**Author's Note:**

> This is something that I really hoped to finish and be able to share but I think I’m just going to scrap it because I don’t totally know where I was going with it. But enjoy it anyway if you want!

The summer heat slips inside these holy walls, thickening the air and wrapping its arms around your skin, begging you to seek solace somewhere cooler. You take a sip from the cold water bottle given to you by your mother, who sat beside you, and rub some of the condensation onto your heated skin, before taking a sip. When you recap the bottle, a tingling sensation creeps up your spine and dances on the back of your neck, drawing your attention and making you turn to find the source.**  
**

You spot it immediately - spot _him_ immediately. Staring at you with those chestnut eyes that make you woozy, and a blush creeps up his face when he realizes he’s been caught, small smirk forming at the corner of his mouth and he looks away, pretending like he’s paying attention to the sermon.

You smirk to yourself, turning back to face front, putting on that innocent facade. It would be in exactly thirty five minutes when your mother would insist that you go home with Shawn with her usual list of excuses - claiming because he lives near you it makes sense, that she would need to stay to help out for the afternoon service, and because “Shawn’s a good boy, and you need to be around more men like him, instead of those heathens you go to school with.”

Little did she know, Shawn _is _one of those heathens, and he was a _very_ good boy when he wanted to be.

All of this started back in high school, when your mother and his mother insisted that since the two of you were now going to the same private school that you get more acquainted - seeing each other only on Sunday’s and mumbling a “hi” at the other wasn’t going to cut it anymore. 

You both hated the thought, feeling like you guys were stuck in an arranged marriage situation you couldn’t get out of, but after one night at a stupid party, booze bought by someone’s older brother and the air thick with marijuana smoke, you two found yourselves in quite the _sinful_ situation - you were face down, ass up on the bed and Shawn was moving inside of you like your bodies had done this a dozen times before, his words praising you and your body, spewing from his lips like he was praying to God.

But the more it went on, the more you and Shawn realized that it didn’t have to stop, especially now that you were both in college, always home on the weekends, your little sinful games never had to end. It became a game - you both let your mothers force you together and pretended to hate it, and took the opportunity to drive around in his Jeep and find an empty parking lot to fuck in, or you’d go to the others house when no one else was home and sneak in a quickie.

Sundays though - Sundays were your _favorite_.

Your mother and his mother would stay to help with the afternoon service, your fathers were out at the local outreach center, and your little brother and his little sister stayed behind to monitor the daycare for the afternoon service, leaving you and Shawn a glorious three hours to do what you pleased with the other, getting dressed and cleaned up and leaving everyone else without a clue, and with good reason.

It was a small religious town, and if people knew that their precious golden boy and innocent little sweetheart were fucking like they were the last people on Earth, you’d both be social pariahs, criticized and forced to confess the sins you didn’t really have.

You were playing a dangerous game with it today, had been planning it all week, really.

You bought a [dress](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fi.pinimg.com%2F736x%2Ff2%2Fa5%2F84%2Ff2a584639eb2178d5715845c53a38b1c.jpg&t=MDdkZmViNWEyM2RlZDI2MTk3MGEyZTVhYzY1ZDU4NWFhNGE0MTA3MCxCT2pxMVl2Tw%3D%3D&b=t%3AiNT915YrhGPzkXGNC-gSTQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fmendeshoney.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F171077416096%2Fsunday-candy&m=1) you saw at the boutique downtown, a cute little ivory chiffon dress that tied at the waist with a silk sash, the edges and sleeves were ruffled, and a multi-colored polka dot pattern was scattered across the dress that you accompanied with nude heels. 

You had forgone underwear completely, and when you greeted Shawn that morning before church began, you did so with a hug, making sure no one was looking when you guided his hand from your waist to underneath the fabric of your dress, allowing him to cop a quick feel of your bare ass before pulling away, tossing an innocent smile at his bewildered face.

And by the way he was staring at you just now, you knew you were in for quite the Sunday afternoon.

* * *

Shawn could feel his heart beating in his chest and he couldn’t will it to stop or calm down. He tried to focus on the road, on the sound of the AC blasting in the car, but it was no use. From his peripheral vision he could see you, hair blowing slightly from the AC, and he could smell your perfume, but above all, he could smell the wet heat pooling at your center, and it filled his senses completely, putting him under a hazy spell, his cock straining against the fabric of his khakis. He had already unbuttoned his baby blue button up, exposing his white shirt underneath, and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. He felt like he was going to sweat through it if he didn’t get his hands on you in the next minute.

You were pretending like you couldn’t see what you were doing to him and it was absolute torture, and he pulled into his driveway sharp enough that it jostled you a little bit, giving him a look of surprise.

His face was set in a hard line - angry that you teased him, angry that you made him sit through an entire service, let his ears be filled with holy words while all his mind could do was imagine the sinful and scandalous things he wanted to do to you, and that he wanted you to do to him.

You climb out of his Jeep without a word, still wanting to play your little game, following him up the driveway and into his house, strolling right into the kitchen, avoiding his hands when they reach for your waist.

You’re more than aware that he’s followed behind you, and so you make a show of it, opening the fridge and bending at the waist and exposing your naked heat, grabbing the pitcher of lemonade at the bottom. You place it on the counter, opening the cabinets and raising high on your toes, reaching for glasses on a shelf that’s just out of your reach, and Shawn comes up behind you, pressing his body against yours, his clothed erection poking at your back.

You turn against the counter, facing him when he brings the glasses back down and throw him a wicked smile, pouring some for the both of you. Shawn keeps his body pressed against yours, pinning you to the counter, his hands resting on your waist as he downs the lemonade, and you watch his Adam’s apple bob, resisting the urge inside to suck at his neck and leave a bruise.

He watches your eyes, watches the trail that they make from his lips, down his neck and defined torso, and stopping just at his waistline, can feel himself begin to whine when he watches your tongue poke out to lick your lips. He takes both of your glasses and puts them down, then quickly hoists you up onto the counter, careful to avoid the drinks, before spreading your legs and dropping to his knees. 


End file.
